


You Take My Breath Away

by AugustIsComing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, M/M, NSFW, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9805412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustIsComing/pseuds/AugustIsComing
Summary: Draco and Harry have some pent up energy (and anger).





	

“Merlin help me, I’m going to kill you.”

“Oh, piss off, you big milksop wanker.”

And that was all it took.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had been assigned partners in the auror training, and had been made to fight each other/help out each other throughout the whole week.

Needless to say, it had not gone well.

Insults and some minor hexes had been thrown about all along, and now as the day and week came to an end, sweaty and tired and stiff, after spending an hour trying to get Pothead Potter to throw a decent bloody punch, Draco had finally burnt out all the patience he had left in him.

Everyone else had left a long time ago, auror Smith having demanded they stayed there until Harry had mastered this specific move (which did involve a punch and a few other maneuvers which obviously were too complicated for Potter’s simple brain). It had been a terrible idea, and they probably would have killed each other much earlier if there weren’t a heavy layer of safety spells covering all of the training room.

Now, though, they were in the locker rooms. And Potter’s drained yet fiery expletive got Draco’s spent muscles clenching, and his worn out brain could no longer remind him why it was a bad idea to hex the balls off Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world.

And he would, Merlin knew he would, but he wanted to go home to his cat and a mug of tea and his silent apartment, so instead of actually pulling out his wand, Draco simply jumped him, both of them falling to the floor with an alarmed gasp from Potter as the Malfoy’s hands wrapped around his throat, pressing down almost skillfully, he knew just where to apply more pressure, knew even how long it would take for Potter to stop flouncing. He didn't want to kill Potter, no, just some minor oxygen deprivation would do wonders as a hard reset to his stupid, tiny, dried up little brain.

To Draco's utter surprise, though, what he could hear from Potter's lips were not cries for help, or desperate pleas for him to stop.

The one word that floated to his ears, which were red in their angry blush, was a weakened, pitiful, sinful “harder”.

Surely Draco had heard him wrong, though, obviously, what with his own loud breathing, and so he just continued to do what he was doing, his second of hesitation long gone.

Except Potter’s (stupidly) large green eyes were staring right up at him, something that was not fear making them almost glisten, his lips parted in something that was clearly not despair. There was no struggling. In fact, the hands on his back were nowhere near pushing him away. Potter’s hands were pulling him closer, pressing down, a silent plea to stay where he was.

“Hard--” Potter tried again, this time not enough air in his lungs for him to repeat it.

Fucking hell, Harry Potter was enjoying every second of Draco trying to suffocate him.

“You sick bastard...!” The blond exclaimed as he jumped up, away from the now panting man on the floor.

The whole situation dawned on him. Not only had he tried to actually fucking hurt Potter, but Potter had very much appreciated his methods, if his extreme blush and the semi-erection Draco could see through his pants were anything to go by.

To his resolve’s complete dissolution, Harry Potter, the damn sick bastard, was smirking up at him, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, breathing heavily, because he had to catch his breath, surely, but also because he was so obviously, distressfully, enjoying himself.

“Get back here, arsehole,” he demanded, and before Draco could finish rolling his eyes and leave, Potter pulled him down by his hand, hard, and he fell atop him, knees planting painfully on the ground at Potter’s side. “Why don’t you stop rambling about absolute shite, and put your mouth to good bloody use for once?”

Kissing Harry Potter was nothing like he’d ever imagined. Perhaps because Draco had never, ever imagined it. But he could taste Potter’s sweat on his lips, and he didn’t taste bad at all. He had some soft stubble, which had probably been pushing through a poorly-cast shaving spell all day, and it contrasted with his soft lips.

They smelled sour, from way too much working out, and when Draco slid his fingers into Potter’s stupid unruly hair, he found it slightly damp.

His brain kept screaming everything about this was disgusting, disgusting and wrong, and what in the world were they doing, kissing hard, tongues slipping into mouths, teeth catching on lips, and Potter’s stupid half-hard prick pressing against his hip bone, but to no avail; Potter pulled one of his hands to his throat again, squeezing hard, and Draco broke the kiss to try to look at him and understand, because nothing made any fucking sense anymore.

Harry's bright eyes were looking up at him, and they were still angry, his nails were still digging into the small of Draco’s back, but he wanted this, and Draco, to his surprise and dismay, did too. Maybe he needed it. Maybe it had been a longer week than he had ever imagined.

 _Harry_. The name infiltrated his thoughts despite his best judgement; it was _Harry_ he was meticulously studying now, as he licked his jaw and kissed his lips hard, grinding their crotches. It was Potter he had jumped just a minute later. Draco knew the difference existed, he was aware what it meant, but there was no time to think of that right then.

Right then they were both hard, and their minds were hazy with lust, and Draco had wanted to choke Harry Potter all day... He just hadn't known it would lead to wanting to kiss the bruises on his neck better as well.

~-~-~-~

“So...”

“Your come is still warm on my stomach, so just...”

“Shut up, yeah, okay...”

Draco and Harry were laying together on the locker room floor, a pile of their clothes serving as a shared pillow, sweat gluing their backs to the cold tiled floor.

He was gonna get a cold, Harry thought passively, playing with Draco’s much longer fingers, which were a little sticky from his saliva, from when Draco slid them down his mouth, fucking his lips, and choking him lightly to keep his noises down as his other hand had been wrapped around both their cocks.

“I’m not coming home with you,” he said, although Malfoy hadn’t asked.

“Damn right you’re not, Serendipity does not enjoy unexpected company.”

“Who’s Serendipity?”

“My cat,” Draco answered in a tone that implied Harry should have known this, but he couldn’t possibly understand how he was expected to have found out.

“Right,” was all he had to say about it, because if he were honest with himself, it was a little bit disappointing that Draco wouldn’t put up a fight. Their last fight certainly had ended quite nicely.

“I could always come home with you.”

Harry went rigid. He had not been prepared for that. It was said after a long silence, and so he thought they were done talking about it, about going anywhere together after all this. Sure, it had been mind-blowing hate sex. But wasn’t that all?

“...Or not.” Draco’s frown could be heard in his voice, and he sat up, a suction noise echoing in the room because his back had definitely been stuck to the floor. There was a red mark quickly setting in there, so Harry instinctively reached out and touched it, wanting to make sure he wasn’t hurt.

Malfoy looked back at him over his shoulder, and this was definitely Malfoy, not even a sliver of Draco in his eyes, because he looked as if he was about to bite Harry’s hand off.

He was hurt in other ways than Harry had imagined, then.

“You’re coming home with me,” Harry said, because being direct worked better with Malfoy, and if he asked him what he wanted it would be just too personal. He could still decline, of course. Harry hoped he wouldn’t.

Draco was hesitating, and he bit his lip, which was still red and a little swollen from their frantic kissing earlier.

“Look, tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll make you breakfast in bed to make up for calling you a milksop,” his smile was teasing and a little lopsided. Harry wanted to be on Draco’s good side; it’s not every day a one night stand makes you come so fucking hard, as if they've known your body forever even though they don’t know you at all. And this was Malfoy. Harry would bet his ass the wanker liked to be primped out of his mind.

He was ready to insist, but Draco’s face broke in a wide mischievous grin.

“Last one to Grimmauld place has to top.”

Harry blinked and heard a soft pop and Malfoy was gone, alongside all of their clothes, which had been used as their pillows just a second before, and so Harry’s head hit the ground before he could stop it.

Potter sat up and shook his head, accioing a towel to wrap around his waist.

“Bloody lazy wanker,” he muttered to himself, and sat down on a nearby bench.

He felt like topping Draco into a pretty, loud mess anyway. Making him wait was bound to make it all the more interesting.


End file.
